


More Than Words

by CatS81



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatS81/pseuds/CatS81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Molokai, Carolyn is pondering the significance of Mr Alyakhin's unflattering nickname; Douglas seeks to reassure her....</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Words

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** 'Cabin Pressure' and its characters belong to the awesome John Finnemore. I'm just taking them out for a spin around the block but I promise to return them unharmed ;)
> 
>  **A/N:** This is set directly post-Molokai so I'm assuming Douglas is now separated from Helena. I'm really grateful to Linguini for the beta - thank you :) As always, feedback is very much appreciated - thank you so much for reading.

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey shook her head in fond incredulity as she gazed across the room, her son’s enthusiastic dancing making her smile. They had been at the luau for hours, savouring the traditional - though, she suspected, somewhat exaggerated- fare and enjoying the unconventional festive atmosphere. Arthur had thrown himself into it with characteristic verve, sampling all the food and revelling in the entertainment. Their alternative Christmas in a tropical paradise had not fazed him in the slightest, and she felt her smile widen as she watched him, warmth spreading through her chest. The smile turned to a quiet chuckle as he pulled Martin to the dance floor, the pilot’s limbs clearly loosened with alcohol as he put up only a token protest before beginning to move with Arthur and a group of others. She blinked away after a moment and took a long draw from her wine, the upbeat music fading as she allowed her mind to drift. It had been a good couple of days overall, she told herself with determination. She had secured a tentative contract with a very rich prospective client that could keep MJN’s collective head above water. Her son was having the Christmas he deserved. Her employees appeared to have forgiven her underhanded scheme to extend their working hours. And yet….She sighed and took another drink, irritated by the nagging memory that was preventing her from fully relaxing. _It’s nothing_ , she reproached internally. _Stop wasting energy on it and put it behind you…._

“Good Lord.”

She was broken from her reverie by the exclamation and turned her head as Douglas reclaimed his seat at her side. He placed their fresh drinks onto the table though his attention was focussed on Martin and Arthur who were moving and laughing with increasing vigour, any self-consciousness fading into the sultry heat of the night. 

Carolyn chuckled. “Indeed.”

“Three sheets to the wind?”

“Oh, Martin is, definitely. I’d say Arthur’s just high on Christmas spirit and hula.”

“Naturally.”

She felt his eyes on her as he settled against the low couch and reached for his apple juice, garish in a bright tumbler. “Not up for a bit of limbo dancing yourself, then?”

She glared at him, absorbing the teasing tone with a snort. “Hysterical.”

“Where’s your sense of Christmas adventure, Carolyn?”

“It flew away with the sleigh.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Though obviously not with your shine for a rhyme.”

She allowed a brief laugh, amused as always by his riposte. “Very good.” 

“Goodness; was that you actually _conceding_?”

“Not on your life.”

“Well, that’s a relief. All is again right with the world.”

They lapsed into silence and Carolyn found she had drained her glass without realising, reaching for the new one he had provided. Her mood was darkening and it irked her, annoyed that she was allowing something she was keen to dismiss to dominate her thoughts. She supressed another sigh, feeling Douglas shift beside her.

“You alright?” he asked, deep baritone soft against the competition from the jovial music, and she glanced towards him before she could catch herself.

 _Oh, for God’s sake. Get a bloody grip, woman._ “I’m fine.”

“You’re not exactly exuding the joys of the season.”

“Well, what do you expect?” she snapped. “Ridiculously over-the-top …?”

“No,” he interrupted. “But it _is_ Christmas Day. It’s customary to be at least a _little_ bit cheerful.”

“Or alternatively, simply chant ‘bah humbug’ repeatedly at one’s leisure.”

He shrugged. “Depending on your mind-set.”

“There you are, then.”

“You forget how long I’ve known you,” he told her evenly, and she felt her stomach lurch. “You _like_ Christmas, Carolyn.”

“I have a _child_ , Douglas,” she countered with an eye roll. “It’s somewhat compulsory.”

“Even if said child is almost thirty?”

“Makes no difference.” She gestured across the room. “Just _look_ at him.”

“And besides,” he continued undeterred. “Didn’t you just secure a potentially very lucrative deal with that disgustingly rich yacht broker?”

She exhaled in dismissal, the mention of Mr. Alyakhin unsettling her anew. “It’s a trial run.”

“Even so. Surely enough of a reason to celebrate?”

“I’m drinking, aren’t I? You were kind enough to provide glass number three, as it happens.”

“Hm,” he drawled, dark eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “Though it seems glass number two barely touched the sides.”

“Rubbish.”

He shrugged, expression carefully neutral, and she willed herself not to flush beneath his scrutiny. “Maudlin isn’t normally your style.”

“Let’s get this clear, idiot pilot: I am neither drunk nor maudlin, so you can….”

“Contemplative, then?”

She raised her chin a fraction in challenge. “Anything in particular wrong with that?”

He sighed. “Once again: it’s Christmas Day….”

“Goodness, how _astute_ of you, Douglas.”

“…We’re in what most people would consider paradise….”

“Though not you.”

“Not in a culinary sense.”

“Get to the point.”

“My point is…that you have every reason for festive cheer,” he said, apparently undaunted by her irritation. “And yet here you sit beneath the figurative black cloud, determined to drink yourself into a….”

“I most certainly am _not_.”

“You’re not telling me you’re actually enjoying that wine? I saw the box they squeezed it out of.”

“It’s perfectly palatable.”

“For a means to an end.”

She sighed, turning slightly to face him, his relaxed posture not fooling her in the slightest. “I’m fine. Genuinely.”

He scoffed. “Let’s just explore the meaning of that _particular_ adjective for a minute, shall we?”

“So you can stop with the third degree.”

He held her gaze for a beat before relenting and raising a palm. “ _Fine_.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

Douglas took a long pull from his drink and shifted back against the soft cushions. “So, come on, then; you were very vague on the details. What exactly has Mr. Alyakhin agreed to?”

Carolyn gave a careful shrug. “Like I said: a trial run.”

“Meaning what?”

“Oh, a couple of short-haul trips a month initially, I expect. And if he’s happy with that, then who knows?”

“Hm,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Could keep us afloat alone if it all comes off.”

“Precisely.”

“Though you’d have to deal with him personally each time.”

She looked at him, his eyes unreadable in the muted light though she felt her heart skip against her ribs. “Well, of course I will,” she told him, injecting as much disdain as she could muster. “He’ll expect nothing less.”

“And do you think you can _rein_ in the contempt long enough to secure us a long-term contract?”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “I believe I can summon the requisite willpower. Just so long as the gin is on standby at all times.”

He chuckled. “Think of the money.”

“I’m always thinking of the money. It’s my _business_ , Douglas.”

“Personal slights notwithstanding?”

She held his eye, acknowledging the layers hidden within his question, and she felt her breath catch. “Obviously.”

“Because you do know it’s nonsense, don’t you?”

She frowned in anticipation. “What is?”

“That ridiculous ‘Babushka’ analogy.”

Carolyn felt her mouth fall open, astounded by his perceptiveness despite the pointed dismissal of his tone. She had been turning Mr. Alyakhin’s unflattering nickname over in her mind for hours, trying to deny just how much it had dug beneath her skin. She could tell herself that she was unaffected, that it had no effect on her confidence, but in reality she was bitterly aware that it compounded her fear of indeed being old and irrelevant -the tiny voice that confirmed her status as past being physically attractive, past being of vital appeal. 

She could of course rebut such superficial things as irrelevant, that her more fundamental attributes were far superior but in the present moment she was struggling to. It irritated her that something as simple as a name had managed to penetrate her defences and reinforce the demons of self-doubt. It unsettled her that the cruel jibes of her inner voice were more potent than the attempts of her intellect to rally.

She snatched a breath, aware that the silence was lengthening, Douglas’ expression impassive as he continued to regard her. He had cut straight to the heart of her mood, and she suspected it had been quite deliberate, though she forced herself not to dwell on the meaning behind his statement.

“I really don’t care, Douglas,” she found herself telling him with derision. “It’s absolutely immaterial so long as he agrees to pay me.”

He blinked. “Is it?”

“Of course.”

“So this brooding has nothing at all to do with Mr. Alyakhin?”

She blew out an irate breath. “In the first instance, I am most _definitely_ not brooding….”

“Your countenance would beg to differ….”

“….and in the second, why on _earth_ would it have anything to do with him?”

“Well, regardless.” He rolled his eyes though his velvet tone was soft. “I just thought you should know that whether you care or not….”

“I _don’t_. I thought I’d made that quite clear.”

“….it’s a far, _far_ cry from the truth.” He raised his eyebrows, apparently to check her comprehension. “Alright?”

She felt their eyes lock together even as she tried to drag her gaze away, his understated reassurance bewildering her. _He doesn’t mean…? He can’t possibly mean…?_ She was unwilling to complete the stuttering thoughts, heart contracting as her emotions spiralled beyond the grasp of her control. _He saw straight through me…and damn him if he’s not a bloody balm…._ She stifled a sigh as he continued to regard her. _Oh, this isn’t good, old girl. I thought you’d left all this behind years ago…._

“Carolyn.”

His voice had dropped into a huskier register, resonant through his chest, and she drew another slow breath, pulse quickening. _It’s academic_ , she told herself firmly. _Purely and simply academic. Bloody silver-tongued idiot. There’s no way on this earth he means what he seems to mean, he’s just…._

She stiffened with shock as his hand ghosted across her back before withdrawing, heart slamming against her bones, and she blinked, momentarily frozen.

“Will you let me show you?” he asked, tone throaty and soft, eyes intense in the candlelight. “In lieu of more words, I mean.”

She swallowed, wanton images flickering unbidden behind her eyes. “Look,” she made herself say, turning to face him. “Talking at cross-purposes has never really been my….”

“Neither is being deliberately obtuse.” He looked at her intently. “Stop purposefully misreading me. You know exactly what I’m saying.”

“It’s absurd, Douglas.”

“Why is it?”

“Because it’s one thing to try and reassure an old friend when they’re having a moment of insecurity….” She raised a warning finger as he drew a breath to reply. “Not that I’m even _remotely_ admitting to that, by the way.”

“Perish the thought.”

“But it’s quite another to…to suggest….” She shivered despite herself as his fingers found her back once more, tracing maddening circles with a feather-light pressure. “It’s not _necessary_ , for a kick-off.”

“Well, maybe not strictly,” he conceded with a shrug. “Simply thought you might need more than words, that’s all.”

“And you don’t think it’s the tiniest bit arrogant or misogynistic?”

He tutted and shook his head. “It’s about showing you that you don’t fit that mould. In any way, shape or form.”

“Well, that’s noted,” she responded dryly. “Thank you.”

“ _Showing_ as opposed to _telling_. Words can be too easy to dismiss.”

“And here I thought you were the master of silver-tongued prose, Douglas.”

“For God’s sake,” he complained, fingers still moving across her shoulders and spine as she continued to lean forwards against her knees. “Will you just…?”

“To say nothing of the fact that you’re on the rebound….”

He pressed more firmly at her shoulder blade, inviting her to sit back on the sofa and slide closer towards him. “Carolyn…. _Let_ me….”

She was agonisingly tempted, every instinct in her body demanding she surrender to the arousal prickling along her nerves, though her mind was more determined, and she shrugged his hand away. She was prevented from replying by Arthur bounding over to the table, and she felt a combination of relief and frustration at his appearance, schooling her features into a smile as he called her name in excitement.

“Mum! Come and dance! It’s _brilliant_!”

She allowed him to take her hand and pull her to her feet, ignoring Douglas’ gentle sigh. “ _Must_ I, dear-heart?”

“Yes! You too, Douglas; come on!”

She was gratified by the feel of his palm in the small of her back as Arthur led them to the dance floor, its warmth both thrilling and terrifying her. She forced herself not to dwell on his words, on the unspoken promise of action, unable to process the complicated emotions they precipitated. _I’m not going down that road_ , she bade herself. _It’s all as clear as mud, just like it’s always been. But sod the arrogant man, I actually feel better…._ She smiled, heart expanding as she watched him throw his head back in laughter, Arthur’s attempt to make him dance apparently entertaining. _Bugger Mr. Alyakhin_ , she thought as she approached him. _There’s life in the old dog yet. And life aplenty._

FIN


End file.
